


ah, the smell of oppression in the late evening

by jehans



Series: it's for you [29]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 02:14:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehans/pseuds/jehans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why can’t I have <i>my</i> boyfriend here to put his hands down my pants?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	ah, the smell of oppression in the late evening

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place not too long after 'twenty-four hours'.

Enjolras’ hair is sticking out in about nineteen different directions, which Grantaire, from his very comfortable spot lounging on the couch directly behind Enjolras and curled around his back, finds ridiculously adorable.

Not that he’d say that out loud because from the way Enjolras’ eyes are flashing dangerously, if he did, he’d soon find himself without a head.

His hands do manage to find the sliver of bare skin between Enjolras’ jeans and the back of his shirt, though.

Enjolras doesn’t actually pay attention to this, and keeps arguing with Courfeyrac, who groans and flings himself backward onto the floor. Combeferre reaches over and pats him comfortingly on the leg.

“If we have to keep debating this _idiotic_ policy,” he moans from the floor, “why can’t I have _my_ boyfriend here to put his hands down my pants?”

Enjolras suddenly looks back at Grantaire like he’s surprised to hear that someone’s hands are down his pants and Grantaire grins sleepily up at him.

“Because if your boyfriend’s hands were down your pants,” Combeferre is explaining calmly as Enjolras tries and fails to not return Grantaire’s smile and then blushes, “you and your boyfriend would end up having sex and we’d get nothing done.”

Courfeyrac makes a crying sound. “BUT I WANT TO HAVE SEX,” he sobs.

“Jehan’s a lucky man,” Combeferre says dryly. “Can you please revise this?” He tosses a pamphlet onto Courfeyrac’s face.

As Courfeyrac grumbles and reaches for his pen to go over Combeferre’s notes, Grantaire’s hand slips further up Enjolras’ back, who squirms a little and glares down at his boyfriend. Grantaire curls himself up even more and lifts his head to press a kiss to the skin of Enjolras’ hip. For all of his pretense that he disapproves of this, Enjolras’ hand finds its way into Grantaire’s hair.

“Okay, but seriously,” Courfeyrac whines, having sat up and seen this, “I don’t get why _Grantaire_ gets to be here but _Jehan_ doesn’t.”

“I’d take offense at that if I didn’t know what you meant by it,” Enjolras snaps a warning. He doesn’t catch the look of absolute wonder that Grantaire gazes up at him with.

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes. “But you _do_ know what I mean by it.”

“Grantaire was already here,” Combeferre reminds him, “we weren’t about to kick him out, he’s spending the night here.”

“Jehan and I literally do not spend a single night apart,” Courfeyrac protests. “He can’t sleep without me and I can’t go to him until we’re done here and I was told ‘no boyfriends’ and YET!” He gestures wildly at Grantaire.

The other three just blink at him.

Courfeyrac huffs and darts for his phone. “I’m calling Jehan.”

“No!” Enjolras and Combeferre yell in unison as Combeferre lunges forward and grabs the phone from Courfeyrac’s hand.

“THIS IS NOT VERY EGALITARIAN!” Courfeyrac shrieks while Combeferre sticks the phone in his own back pocket “I SMELL OPPRESSION!”

He quiets down a little when Enjolras reaches forward to pull the pamphlet out of his hand, but he doesn’t stop grumbling until ten minutes later when there’s a knock on the door and Grantaire disentangles himself from around Enjolras (who makes a tiny sound of protest and earns a little kiss to his temple) to go answer it.

When Courfeyrac hears his boyfriend’s voice from behind him, he positively lights up, spinning around and scrambling to his feet to throw himself on Jehan as he comes through the door.

“How did you know to come?” Courfeyrac gasps in his ear as Jehan laughs and returns his hug.

“Grantaire texted me,” Jehan answers and Courfeyrac spins around again to look at Grantaire, who’s settling back on the couch next to Enjolras and shrugs.

“You were right,” he says offhand, shooting a grin at Enjolras, who’s frowning at him again. “It’s not fair for Enjolras to get his boyfriend here and not you.”

Courfeyrac grabs the armchair instead of settling back on the floor, and pulls a grinning Jehan into his lap.

“You were complaining about me not being here?” Jehan whispers, blushing. Courfeyrac just twines their fingers together and raises their joined hands to press his lips to Jehan’s fingers.

Surprisingly, far from being overly distracted by the boy in his lap, Courfeyrac is suddenly a lot more focused. Jehan even has some very helpful input for the first few minutes until he’s overcome with exhaustion and Grantaire fondly watches him fall asleep in Courfeyrac’s arms, his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder, nose pressed into his neck. Courfeyrac absently strokes his hair as he vehemently argues some point that Grantaire isn’t paying attention to because Enjolras is shifting, snuggling into him. One hand comes to rest absently on his leg, fingers stroking back and forth as Enjolras weakly argues with Courfeyrac, who rolls his eyes but doesn’t start shouting like he would is Jehan weren’t sleeping between his arms.

When Enjolras makes a humming sound and lets his head rest back against a ridiculously smug Grantaire’s shoulder, Combeferre calls it a night.

“We’ll finish tomorrow,” he promises as Enjolras tries to sleepily protest his departure. “Sleep well,” he adds to all four of them.

“You too,” Courfeyrac calls softly after him before Combeferre smiles over his shoulder at him and shuts the door behind himself.

“Bed, then?” Grantaire murmurs to Enjolras.

Their fearless leader makes a tired grunt and curls further into Grantaire’s body. Grantaire doesn’t even try not to grin. He does look up at Courfeyrac — who’s adoringly tucking Jehan’s hair out of his face and pressing kisses to his forehead — and mumbles, “We might be a while. He’s pretty stubborn.”

Courfeyrac smiles at Grantaire. “It’s hard to love a revolutionary,” he says.

Grantaire glances down at where Enjolras’ nose is burrowing into his chest. “Not always,” he whispers.

Jehan only wakes up enough to wrap his arms around Courfeyrac’s neck as he’s lifted into his boyfriend’s arms with a muttered, “Come on, boy mine.” He clings to Courfeyrac like a koala while Courfeyrac carries him into his bedroom, softly singing a made-up song about sleepy poets and stars wishing them goodnight.

Jehan makes a snuffling noise as he’s deposited gently in bed, reaching out to try to hold onto Courfeyrac, who’s kicking off his shoes before climbing into bed next to his love. Jehan smiles with his eyes half closed when Courf finishes out his song.

“Will you sing that at our wedding?” he asks quietly.

Courfeyrac absolutely beams. He tucks himself in right next to Jehan, and Jehan wraps his arms all the way around Courfeyrac, clinging again.

“Darling love,” Courfeyrac whispers to him, lightly brushing hair out of his face again, “on our wedding day, I’ll sing you anything you like.”

They’re so close that Courfeyrac can feel Jehan’s smile against his skin.

“That’ll be nice,” the poet sighs. “I can’t wait.”

Courfeyrac kisses his head again, reeling. They’re not engaged, they’ve only just been talking about maybe someday possibly getting married — and yet. “Neither can I.”

They fall asleep the way they always do, wrapped around each other. Out in the living room, Grantaire has tugged the blanket off the top of the couch and over him and Enjolras, who’s dead asleep and stretched out on top of him, both of them laid out across the length of the couch. He’ll probably wake up with a sore back, a crick in his neck, and his limbs all asleep. And he just could not be happier.


End file.
